


Flushed Not With Fever

by pantomyme



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, linhardt's rambling thoughts, no beta we die like Glenn, they are soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26074669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pantomyme/pseuds/pantomyme
Summary: Linhardt is cold and Marianne worries he has a fever.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Linhardt von Hevring
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	Flushed Not With Fever

**Author's Note:**

> This came about purely because I wanted Linhardt to call Marianne "Bluebird" as a pet name.

“It was a dark and stormy night,” Linhardt muttered crossly as he attempted to sweep back the hair clinging wetly to his face. It was such a nuisance to keep it long but he put up with it for the benefit of keeping his ears warm, because the alternative was wearing a hat and in his opinion, hats were worse. Bulky monstrosities that never quite stayed where you put them on your head even if they were slightly better at keeping his ears warm. Of course, he would never admit that aloud. Bastard appendages.

“Are you cold? You keep shivering.” Marianne asked from where she was bent over ringing her skirts onto the straw that littered the floor of their makeshift shelter. It appeared to be some sort of storage shed that had fallen into slight disrepair, if the broken boxes and other various detritus were any indication. Linhardt leaned gingerly against a barrel that appeared mostly intact and wondered who owned the shed and if they would mind two rain soaked travellers using it as a temporary refuge. He immediately dismissed the thought as a problem for his future self.

“Yes,” he said, mentally strong-arming his thoughts back to his companion. He was always a little on the chilled side, probably some sort of circulation problem, and the sudden drenching had done little in regards to his body maintaining a comfortable temperature. He felt the tips of his ears throb like traitors.

Marianne regarded him with a concerned pull to her brow. Her mouth was drawn slightly to the right, which he knew meant she was running through her medical knowledge. Worry, puzzlement, and general everyday quizzical thoughts sent her lips a tic to the left, but whenever she was mulling over a medical problem they went right. Linhardt watched, suppressing a smile, as he waited for the absentminded twitch of her nose that meant she’d reached a conclusion.

“I wonder…” she began and he noted with triumph the slight quiver of her nose. “I hope you don’t have a fever.”

He was fairly certain he didn’t. The wind that had picked up drastically when the downpour began was the reason he was cold and his sodden clothes plastered to him weren’t helping. And, Goddess, were they uncomfortable. Wet fabric had to have the worst texture of something he seemingly willingly laid against his own skin and it had the further audacity to be so damned heavy. Marianne had to be miserable with all that damp fabric that made up her dress. Then again, he thought, perhaps all her layers of petticoats and shifts and what else made up her costume had prevented the rain from seeping all the way to her skin and when had she gotten so close?

Linhardt blinked, brain screeching back to reality as he realized Marianne was now only about a foot away from him. She was hesitating, lips drawn into a thin line in the way he’d come to recognize over the past few months that meant she was grappling with the deep seated fears she had in regards to her crest. She, too, had swept her bangs back out of her face and a few small droplets of water meandered down her nose to mingle with the faint freckles that dusted the bridge. One larger drop slid unhindered down her flushed cheek, over her jaw, and along her throat towards her collar. She swallowed.

Linhardt’s eyes snapped up just as she closed the distance between them, pressing her forehead to his own. For one long moment his racing thoughts stilled before ramping up to a new and frenzied speed as he struggled to sort through what was happening. So fast was his mind that he heard himself speaking before he’d even informed himself that he was going to do so.

“What’s the verdict?”

There were sweepings of gold in Marianne’s eyes. The outer ring was almost purple and its dark tributaries flowed towards the center in a beautiful dance of geometry that left him utterly fascinated.

“You’re a bit flushed,” she whispered. “But I don’t think you have a fever.”

“Flushed,” he said, just as softly. He brought his hand up to very gently lift her chin. “And whose fault is that?” 

Her eyes widened but she made no move to pull away. Taking that as an encouraging sign, Linhardt tilted his head and pressed a feather light kiss to her lips, cataloging the sensation just as he had cataloged everything else about her. To his shock and delight, she almost immediately leaned into it, bringing one hand to his shoulder to keep her balance. 

He was elated. 

Unfortunately, their mounts chose that moment to inform them that the rain had stopped. Dorte let out a snort and pawed restlessly at the ground, no doubt eager to get home to his nice warm stable with its bucket of oats. Marianne started at the noise, breaking the kiss with a jerk as she stumbled forward. Linhardt caught her about the elbows, standing so that they didn’t accidentally tip themselves over the barrel.

“Easy, Bluebird,” he said as he steadied her. A deep blush painted her cheeks and he was fairly certain he had one to match, but he was also pleased to note that her mouth was turned into a shy smile, even if she couldn’t quite meet his eye.

“I suppose it would be wise to take this opportunity to press on,” he sighed, annoyed that Dorte couldn’t have given them just a little bit longer. He supposed times were weird enough that he could take having a horse as a chaperone in stride, but just a few more minutes would have been nice.

“Yes, that’s probably wise,” Marianne said, before hesitating for a second time. He waited, curious as to what she would do next in this afternoon of surprises, and was rewarded when she slipped her hand into his and pulled him over to the horses, staunchly refusing to look at him the entire four and a half feet of distance.

If Linhardt had a silly grin on his face as they rode through the gates of Garreg Mach, well, he couldn’t be bothered to care because next to him, in her own quiet glow, Marianne had one, too.

**Author's Note:**

> What is pacing?


End file.
